


oh, i'm falling

by nezstorm



Series: quarantine prompts [26]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Stiles wakes with a start, voice stuck on a sob. Frantically, he turns to the other side of the bed and finds it empty and no. No. It was just a dream.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: quarantine prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687684
Comments: 7
Kudos: 197





	oh, i'm falling

Stiles wakes with a start, voice stuck on a sob. Frantically, he turns to the other side of the bed and finds it empty and no. No. It was just a dream.

It was just a dream, he tries to tell himself because he’s still in Derek’s apartment, they went to sleep together a few hours ago, Derek wasn’t gone. He’s not in bed, but he’s not gone.

He curls up in a ball, face pressed against Derek’s pillow and he can’t even tell if it’s still warm or not, if it’s wishful thinking, his mind playing tricks. He can’t tell, and his hands are shaking too much for him to count his fingers and his chest is too tight to breathe, and his dream might have not been a dream and he lost Derek after all because all the people he’s ever cared about  _ leave _ one way or another.

The pillow is getting wet beneath his face and maybe that’s blood, not tears, he can’t fucking tell and can’t breathe--

Can’t even register that he’s being moved, pulled up until he isn’t suffocating himself with a pillow, with his knees pressed into his chest, and is sitting on the bed instead, cradled in the vee of familiar strong legs, a broad chest pressed against his back, and gentle hands are holding onto his.

“I’m here, Stiles, I’m here. You’re fine, I’m fine. We’re at my place. C’mon, breathe. Breathe with me, yeah, yeah, c’mon, Stiles,” someone tells him, coaxing Stiles to get air and follow the instructions whispered into his ear, in and out, inhale, exhale, “You’re doing good, Stiles, now hold my hands and help me count our fingers.”

Stiles breathes, easier with every stumbling ten they get through, and Stiles finally recognizes its Derek behind him,

“... seven, eight,...” 

his large palms pressed against Stiles’, tanned skin against his pale, long fingers, his chest expanding in exaggerated breathes to coax Stiles to take deep breaths.

He’s here. He’s here, they both have perfectly imperfect ten fingers each and Stiles’ dream wasn’t true.

Because Derek wouldn’t be able to hold him if he was gone.

It takes a few more minutes of breathing together, a few more countdowns, before Stiles laces his fingers together with Derek’s and pulls their joined hands to his chest, effectively making Derek hold him close.

“Thanks,” he says, clears his throat and says it again when it comes out almost inaudible the first time.

He feels Derek press a kiss to the side of his face as he tightens his hold on Stiles, rocking them from side to side slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, truthfully, because now that Derek’s here he’s fine. He sags in Derek’s hold, just allows himself to be held. “I dreamt you died,” Stiles says before Derek can ask if he wants to talk about it. He lifts one of Derek’s hands to his face and kisses the back of it, holds Derek’s hand against his cheek to feel the warmth of it, “It felt awfully fucking real so when I woke up and the bed was empty, well.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Derek gets it. He always does. It’s not the first time one of them had to hold the other after a nightmare, what with the way life had it out for them over the years.

Derek drops another kiss to the side of Stiles’ head, leans in to press a few more to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Just went to the bathroom, but now I’m here,” Derek tells him, promises, “I’ll always be here.”

“I know. I’m fine now, it was just a bad one.” Stiles wiggles a little in Derek’s hold, leaning away until Derek gets what Stiles wants and lets him turn a little, so he’s sitting sideways, back pressed against Derek’s propped up knee and Stiles’ legs stretched over Derek’s thigh. 

This way they’re face to face and he can press a soft kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth, “You make it okay,” Stiles tells him, leans into the touch when Derek cradles his face in his palm.

Stiles feels tired, a little wrung out and vulnerable, but at the same time so grateful to have Derek here, looking rumpled and worried, those beautiful eyes full of concern and affection and it makes Stiles’ chest tight with how much he loves him.

And they haven’t quite said it yet, it’s been only a few months, but Stiles knows they feel the same.

So instead he says, "You make every day worth living," and by the reverent way Derek kisses him Stiles knows he understands. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't edit these.  
the story is finished unless stated otherwise. i write short stories, that's just the way it is.


End file.
